


Meditations on a Crimson Christmas Vest

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fashion Disaster Julian Bashir, Fluff, M/M, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: In anticipation of their second holiday season (as the Humans track such things) together, Garak has a brilliant plan to eliminate any sartorial missteps on the part of his dear Doctor. Sadly, things do not go quite as he planned.





	Meditations on a Crimson Christmas Vest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladymacbeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymacbeth/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to the wonderful ladymacbeth, without whom I may never have posted fanfic to the interwebs! Thank you for your friendship and support this year, as well as the many others before it. Thank you for listening to me rave about a fandom you aren’t even in, and just listening in general. You are incredible, and this fic is a paltry offering, but I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Also, it may be silly Garashir, but it’s Garashir nonetheless. Congrats, you finally got me to write some! Or at least, attempt to write some while having nothing but festive nonsense in my brain. There have probably been a million iterations of ‘Julian wears an ugly Christmas sweater that offends Garak’s fashionable sensibilities’ fic, but here’s one more for good measure.
> 
> Rated 'T' for Garak's dirty mind ;)

On what equated to the start of the final month of Earth’s calendar year, Garak began his most important project of the busy holiday tailoring season. Ensuring that one Doctor Julian Bashir was not a complete affront to style at the annual station party.  

He would not suffer a repeat of the previous year's fashion disaster—apparently an old Human tradition of wearing the most tacky, unflattering knitwear one could obtain. It induced shudders just to think about what kind of cultureless, backwater civilization could produce such a horrendous tradition… but of course, unsurprisingly, it was the same one which had created the vile substance known as ‘root beer’.  

This year, Garak was making Julian a beautiful Tholian silk shirt of the richest emerald green. It would set off his lover's complexion and eyes perfectly, while still fitting in with the festive colour scheme so popular at this time of year for humans. The silk may have cost him more favours to Quark than he would care to think about, but it would all be worth it to avoid the inevitable sartorial offense that Julian would no doubt manage without proper guidance.

For a man born with such beauty (at least for a non-Cardassian), he was singularly incapable of showing it off to any advantage. Left to his own devices, Doctor Bashir chose such hideous, ill-fitting garments that they almost made Garak appreciate the tolerable-in-comparison awfulness of replicated Starfleet uniforms.

Working from his _very_ detailed file of measurements for Doctor Bashir, Garak designed, drafted, cut, and sewed a simple yet elegant garment that any discerning dresser would happily add to their wardrobe. _Almost a pity to have it go to such an undiscriminating owner_ , he thought to himself while finishing the final bits of handwork. Really, though, it was as much about his pleasure in watching Julian wear the shirt as it was about how Julian enjoyed it. Perhaps more… and he _was_ the most discerning judge of fashion on the station, so the gift was already, in truth, a success.

 

After more than a week of waiting patiently, the night of the party had finally come. Before making his way to Bashir’s quarters, Garak pulled an opaque garment bag from his closet, where it had been hiding behind his own infrequently used formal attire. A large, showy fabric bow adorned the neck of the hangar, and made Garak smile with anticipation.

Upon greeting Garak at the door, Julian eyed the bag with obvious interest, but waited patiently to open it, at the tailor’s request. Following a quiet meal together discussing their latest shared literary diversion—a rather melodramatic and heavy-handed human novella by one Charles Dickens entitled _‘A Christmas Carol’_ —Garak brought the gift over to Julian, who was still sipping his red leaf tea.

“Ah! May I open my present now, Elim?” he asked, eyes glimmering in the lowered lights, set for the Cardassian’s comfort. “You do know that the traditional day for giving gifts isn’t quite here yet?”

“I am aware, yes, but I thought you might like to make use of this particular gift when we attend the party. Not long before it begins, now.”

“Oh, well I’d better open it and make sure it fits,” Julian winked at him, knowing full well that Garak could make him a made-to-measure suit that fit like a second skin if he so wished. Provided the Doctor kept up with his squash games and didn’t indulge in too many I’danian spice puddings, that is.

It took all of Garak’s past training to keep a neutral face and suppress the gasp of excitement and joy he wanted to make, seeing one of his fine creations on an even finer model. Watching as Julian’s dextrous fingers made quick work of the polished shell buttons, Garak mentally catalogued details of the fit so he could add to his notes later.

“Mmmm, how do you like it, my dear Doctor?” he asked with an air of practiced indifference.

“I love it, Garak! Of course, how could I not? You always do such a fantastic job,” said Julian, beaming as he looked over his outstretched arms to the perfectly shaped cuffs.

Garak was doubly pleased, knowing that his genius did not go unappreciated.

“…and it will go perfectly with my new holiday vest!”

Julian proceeded to dig around in his own closet, flourishing a brightly coloured, shapeless knitwear item, having located the latest addition to what was apparently becoming a collection. Garak suppressed a shudder, feeling his shoulders try to draw up on their own accord. Much to his distress, Julian then began to don the dreadful thing, putting its full abominable majesty on display while covering up much of the beautiful silk shirt underneath. Garak tried not to think about the two pieces of clothing coming into contact with each other. He might be unable to keep a wail of horror from his voice if he thought about it for long.

It was the most horrible, fuzzy, eye-burningly red sweater vest, complete with little multi-coloured Christmas bulb buttons. The entire surface of the deplorable garment was covered with clumsily-rendered embroidery motifs, meant to depict various traditional items humans apparently valued at this time of year. Coniferous trees, candles, some kind of brown biscuit cut roughly in the shape of a man, snowflakes, the list went on. No rhyme or reason to their placement, no discernable pattern. Just more unsightly visual noise on an already difficult-to-look-at piece of clothing. As a tailor, he could barely contain the urge to permanently destroy it then and there.

“…My dear…” Garak struggled past the fury and disgust caught in his throat, “…Why, exactly, do you insist on torturing me with these hideous sweaters? Do you know how painful that shade of red is to Cardassian eyes?”

“But it’s not a sweater!” Julian insisted, indignant.

“No, you’re right, it’s not. It’s worse,” Garak practically hissed, “It’s a _sweater vest_.”

“I thought you liked vests! You wear vests sometimes!”

Garak’s fingers found his temples and began to rub just beside his ocular ridges. He could feel a headache coming on. “Yes, my dear, I do. However, the difference between those and this… monstrosity… is obviously lost on you.”

Julian frowned, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, some mixture of annoyance, confusion, and hurt marring his striking features. “Okay, Elim, if you insist, I’ll take it off.”

Garak couldn’t abide the sorry sight before him—his beloved Doctor, face fallen, looking positively glum as he began removing the atrocity, button by tacky button. Garak held up his hands in supplication, ready to give Julian an even bigger present by relenting in his quest to eliminate fashion disasters from the man’s wardrobe. Though only this once.

“Leave it on, my dear,” he said, using his most soothing tone of voice. Julian gave him a sharp look, assessing whether or not he truly meant it. “Really, if it makes you happy, my eyes can take the punishment for a few hours, I suppose. Besides, you respect my Cardassian traditions, so I shall attempt to respect your Human ones, regardless of how bizarre and off-putting they are.”

“Are you certain, Elim?” Julian asked, a hint of playfulness to the words. “As your Doctor, I wouldn’t want to cause your eyesight any undue stress.”

“Yes, I’m certain. The shame of our outfits clashing so awfully at a public event together is not unfamiliar to me,” said Garak, getting an eye roll in response. He stepped closer to his lover, taking the man’s smooth chin in his hand and leaning in until their faces were almost too close to focus on. Cool blue eyes met warm hazel ones, no longer rolling as their shared look took on a touch of heat.

“I shall simply endeavour to focus my gaze above the offending garment,” Garak paused, drawing it out as he pointedly tilted his head to peer around Julian’s shoulder. Staring at the curve of his ass—thankfully still visible beneath the blinding red fabric—perfectly displayed by what was a masterpiece of tailoring (a gift from a previous occasion, naturally), the Cardassian continued, “…Or below it.”

Based on the flush riding high on Julian’s cheekbones, making him look even more delectable than usual, Garak figured he might just get to enjoy the pleasure of tearing the detestable textile from his lover’s body rather sooner than he’d expected. And really, what better gift could he ask for?

 

END


End file.
